


we fit together like two gears in one of your inventions

by Nottodaylogic (MandaloreArtist)



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Post-Canon, but in not a lot of words, but they’re already dead, they in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandaloreArtist/pseuds/Nottodaylogic
Summary: doesn’t that sound totes romantic, h.g.?





	we fit together like two gears in one of your inventions

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmm poe party is really good???

“Lenore?”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair to look at her second-best friend (first was Annabel, of course; Edgar would be next if not for the fact that Lenore would never admit out loud that she considered him a best friend. It’s not like she has many other choices, but that’s beside the point). “What did you blow up this time, Herbert?”

“What?” H.G. looked so deeply confused for a second that she couldn’t help but feel hopelessly fond of him. This feeling had been happening a lot lately, and it was kind of getting in the way of their friendship. “No, my new invention didn’t explode! Goodness, being a ghost certainly makes tinkering difficult, what with the whole concentration-to-remain-corporeal aspect, and then there’s the…” He trailed off into a muttering rant

“H.G.?” She poked his arm, causing him to blink dazedly at the place where her finger had touched. “Focus.”

“Oh. Sorry.” H.G. cleared his throat. “Would you—would you accompany me to the attic? I require some assistance.”

“Sure.” She put aside her book—and if it’s slightly embarrassing to be caught reading your crush’s book when he’s right in front of you, she wasn’t going to mention it—and followed him up the stairs.

This isn’t Lenore’s first time in love, but it’s _different_ , but not in the way that all her times in love have been different. Sure, he’s more nerdy than her usual crushes, but that isn’t it.

She went through a musician phase once—nothing was weirder than that.

But this is truly unique, in ways she could have never guessed.

She’d never been shy to confess her feelings—not until she’s gone through the usual routine of flirtation and shyness, of course—and she certainly isn’t now. If she wanted to, she could go and kiss H.G. right now (could ghosts kiss?). But she wouldn’t, not when it could jeopardize their entire friendship and everything they have.

Lenore couldn’t handle the awkwardness, especially since they’re both dead and would have to be around each other for, quite literally, all of eternity.

So she flirts a bit more than she would normally, just skirting the danger line, and hopes for something that more than likely won’t ever be happening.

They entered the attic, which he’d taken over with no small amount of enthusiasm after his death. Cogs and wheels and all sorts of trinkets covered every surface, and they had seemed to multiply after Lenore taught him how to summon items. _At_ _least he’s not quite as bad as Edgar,_  she thought, _not about leaving the attic anyways_.

There was a larger contraption in the center of the room, which—okay, honestly she couldn’t really tell what it was exactly, but it has a lot of wires sticking out of it so it’s definitely H.G.s.

“What is this?” She poked it once, and quickly felt him batting at her hand insistently.

“Please don’t touch, Lenore! It could surely explode at any moment should the wrong lever be pressed.”

“Levers aren’t pressed,” she protested weakly.

“Words are difficult.”

She stepped back from the machine, trying not to bump into anything. Granted, she wasn’t corporeal now, but she didn’t want to take the chance of something interacting weirdly with whatever ghost aura thing H.G. liked to muse about in long rants while Lenore listened in a lovesick daze. “You wanted me to help with something?”

“Well, er, not exactly.” H.G. ran his hands over a smooth metal something, grabbed a little trinket, began fiddling with it. His goggles were around his neck, and somehow, despite him being a ghost, they gleamed in the dim light of the attic (he might have wondered how that happened at some point, but she paid more attention to the sound of his voice than the actual words he was saying sometimes).

Lenore frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I simply wanted to talk with you a moment.” He fiddled with a bit of wire, avoiding meeting her eyes. “I—well, as it turns out, you—I quite like you, Lenore. It doesn’t seem prudent to avoid the topic, and it would be even less so to discuss this where the others could interfere. If you—”

“Hold on, you mean _like_ -like?”

H.G. stuttered to a halt. “I don’t understand?”

Lenore wound a strand of hair around her finger, not seeing the point in stifling the hope growing in her chest. “Do you mean ‘ _you’re_ _my_ _best_ _friend_ _and_ _I’d change_   _my_ _wardrobe_ _for_ _you_ ’ like? Or did you mean ‘ _I’m Edgar and you’re Annabel Lee and I want to kiss your face but not as much as I want to stalk you and write you poems_ ’ like?”

“The—the latter,” H.G. said, face reddening. He made to pull on his goggles, but Lenore walked (floated?) forward and placed her hand on his before he could hide his beautiful face.

“Good, because that’s a big mood.” Lenore smiled her most super extra charming (if she does say so herself, which she does) smile at him, but it turned out more soft than anything, which would normally bother her but it didn’t really, not this time.

H.G. blinked adorably. “Big… emotion? Apologies, what?”

She laughed lightly. “Meaning I like you too, you big sap.”

“Oh.” He met her eyes for the first time that day (he didn’t do that very much, which meant she just then realized how beautiful a brown his eyes were). “Would you mind terribly if I kissed you, then?”

Without waiting for permission, Lenore grabbed H.G.’s tie (and pulled it out from his vest jacket in the process—sorry, H.G.) and pulled their faces together.

As it turns out, ghosts can indeed kiss.

This is good news for Lenore, since that’s what she and H.G. spend their time doing for the next—well, almost longer than Edgar had spent holed up in his room, anyways.

They’re _so_ ghost dating now.

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts for art and writing at nottodaylogic i love these nerds


End file.
